We don’t answer. Or move.
Glass and other debris crunch under his feet as he makes his way to where we’re hiding.
I search the ground for anything I could use. And then I see it—an old beer bottle. I’ve got one chance to get this just right.
He comes around the corner, gun pointed at us.
I get up slowly, the bottle clutched in one hand behind my back, and push Teeny behind me with the other one.
“Let her go. You don’t need her.”
His smile makes me want to vomit. “I don’t think so.” He looks back toward the street. “You’ll be coming with me now.”
Oh shit. Images of burning flesh fill my head. We’re not going anywhere with him.
He steps closer and it’s so hard to wait for just the right moment.
I bend over just slightly like I’m going to cry or something and then with everything in me, I swing the bottle in a high arc and bust it against his head, right between the eyes.
The bottle shatters and Mateo goes down like a rock, his face covered in blood.
He doesn’t move.
“Is he dead?” Teeny asks in a flat voice.
“I don’t know.” I grab his gun and point it at him. My hand curls around the handle and my finger rests on the trigger.
I could end this, right now.
No matter how hard I tense my arms, I can’t make the gun stop shaking. I stand there for a full minute, wanting to pull the trigger, but I can’t bring myself to kill him. Then a moan brings me out of my trance, and I shove the gun in the waist of my pants and race to Ethan, dropping down beside him.
“Oh my God, Ethan. Wake up!” I hook my arm around his non-injured side and pull him up. “Ethan, we’ve got to get you to a hospital. You’re bleeding so bad!” I strip off my jacket and wrap it around his arm while he yells out in pain.
Ethan tries to stand, but he’s wobbly.
“I’m calling an ambulance. Then the police. We can’t handle this.” I look around for someone to help, but the alley is empty.
“No! No cops. No ambulances. They’ll find us. I can make it back to the room.”
Ethan manages to make it out of the alley but there’s no way he’ll make it all the way to our hotel. I’m not even sure where we are. We pass people on the sidewalk and I want to beg them to help us, but I keep quiet. Teeny follows behind me, holding on to the bottom of my shirt. There’s no telling what we look like, me with my still bruised cheek and Ethan with his busted face, walking like a drunk.
“I feel sick.” And then he leans over and pukes all over the sidewalk.
A group of guys jump back from us and one says, “Whoa, dude. You’re supposed to pace yourself.”
“I need to sit down. I feel like I’m going to pass out.”
We make it to an open doorway of an abandoned building and I help Ethan to a sitting position. He struggles to stay awake for a few seconds then he’s out again.
We’re only two blocks from the alley now and I don’t like being this exposed. I’m pretty sure Ethan has a concussion on top of a gunshot wound, not to mention the other injuries.
Teeny sits down beside Ethan and holds his hand. “Is he going to be okay?” She’s crying.
“I don’t know.”
He needs help, but the last thing he said to me was not to call the cops. And it will take Will at least four hours to get here.
What do I do…what do I do…
